


darling we’re all bleeding silver

by virtuemoir29



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: F/M, Graphic descriptions of crying scenes, Hurt/Comfort, Sochi depression hours, hand holding, post sochi angst, sochi ANGST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2019-01-06
Packaged: 2019-08-09 00:40:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,200
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16439810
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/virtuemoir29/pseuds/virtuemoir29
Summary: They were bleeding silver and everyone else was bleeding gold. During and post Sochi.





	1. they’re all gold and we’re only silver

**_Sochi, February 2014_ **

 

Silver. 

 

The word was like bile in the back of her throat. Four full years of hard work. Of training her body to the limit, of committing to something so much that it almost broke her. 

 

And  _silver_ is what they got out of it. 

 

Marina can go fuck herself, for all she cares. After all, she is the one who screwed them over, who quite literally disregarded them in favour of those _stupid_ Americans. Well, okay. Just their best competition they’d had in years. Rivals. Opponents. And it was finally catching up to them. 

 

What if if they weren’t good enough? Did she deserve any of this? 

 

Did she deserve Scott, the one who she had let down so badly they hadn’t spoken since their free dance, over 6 hours ago? 

 

She’s grieving, and she doesn’t quite know how to deal with it. So she throws that ridiculous silver medal she’s been holding across the room, and Tessa watches the metal tarnish, and it comforts her. Just a little, maybe more than it should.

 

Tessa recalls the moment before her and Scott’s individual free dance, when Patrice Lauzon, coaching  _another team,_  had come over and comforted her in the only way he knew how. Patrice had wordlessly placed a hand on her face, the look in his eyes providing the support from a coach that she so desperately craved. 

 

And now? She’s sitting in her room back at the Canada House, hands clenched tightly in her lap. And she’s lost.  

 

She’s lost, she realizes, because she really,  _really_ wants to kiss him. 

 

Silver.

 

The word burned like a flame across his tongue. How many years had he spent, dedicating every last drop of his energy to the sport? How many times had he assured her it would all be okay, that everything would eventually work out? And what had come out of it? 

 

A fucking _silver,_ that’s what. 

 

Marina. Oh, Marina. That woman, for all he cares, can do whatever the hell she wants, because he’s so angry at her, he can barely see straight. They were betrayed. It didn’t matter that Canada was alongside them every step of the way. They were betrayed. 

 

Did he deserve any of this? 

 

The medals, the championships, the “congratulations, buddy, you won a silver at the Olympics?” 

 

He throws his newly earned chunk of silver at the wall of his room in the Canada House, and the metal scratches. If it makes him feel any better, he doesn’t say anything. Because he’s terrified. 

 

He’s terrified because all he wants right now is to storm over to Tessa Virtue’s room, wrap her up in his arms, and kiss her senseless. 

 

And that might be the stupidest idea he’s ever had. 

 


	2. maybe this thing was a masterpiece (till you tore it all up)

Tessa’s never been much of a crier. With her legs, the surgeries, the disappointments (and trust her, she had her fair share of those), it just hadn’t been her thing. Staying stoic and never letting herself be vulnerable seemed to drain her from the inside out. Now, she finds herself sitting against her door, and she’s tempted. Tempted to let it go, to finally be able to release the flood of emotions she had been holding back for so many days, months, years.

 

She lets her head fall back against the wood, clasping her hands tightly in her lap. A single tear starts to build, and she swallows the lump in her throat that hasn’t gone away since the kiss and cry earlier that day. Tessa blinks it away, fisting her hands in an attempt to reassure herself. It isn’t working. She’s always known Scott to be the emotional one, and it seems to come so easy to him. It’s one of the reasons she’s always been so jealous of him, every commentator remarking on how much he just -  _feels._ People often call her cold, and she’s starting to wonder if, just maybe, they could be right. 

 

Another drop of moisture makes its way down her face, and she tastes salt on her lips. She stares at her hands, clasped together, and something breaks in her. A sob rips its way out of the back of her throat, and she’s suddenly struck by how grateful she is that her roommate isn’t here to hear it. Through her blurry vision, she makes out the medal, strewn carelessly across her floor. Just another reminder of failure. Of how she’d let them down. How she’d let  _him_ down. 

 

Failure is something that haunts her. It’s always been there, lurking in the back of her mind, waiting to come and play. It tastes like rust, the sharp tinge of metal on the back of her tongue. That, she realizes, is what tears taste like. Being perfectionists in a world where perfection just can’t quite exist reminds her of being buried alive. She can see the thing she’s trying to reach, but it’s just out of her grasp. Reaching and reaching, but it’s never quite enough, never has been. It parallels her life, she realizes, and she almost laughs, because if you have the choice to laugh or to cry, you do the former. 

 

If things were different, she silently muses, what would’ve happened? Would the taste of heartbreak still linger, would the clenching of her heart finally cease? Would the pain be gone? 

 

That’s the thing about pain, she recalls.

 

It demands to be felt. 

 

A rapid succession of knocks startle her, and she jumps. Tessa wipes the few tears that remain with the back of her hand, and doesn’t bother to sit up. 

 

She remembers how Suzanne used to force them to talk, even during the moments when they couldn’t stand one another. How she would have her turn, and he would have his, and it all worked out in the end because they were them and it always worked out. It was so much simpler, back in those days. No rivalry, or judging scandals, or lingering feelings that kept her up at night. Just skating, and each other. 

 

“Tess? Can I come in?” Scott’s concerned tone reaches all the way to the deepest parts of herself, and she shuts her eyes. Apparently, he takes her silence as a denial. She can hear him sit down on the other side, and though she can’t see him, she imagines he’s mirroring her position. She supposes 17 years of constant contact with someone will do that to a person. Scott has the ability to recognize her doubts, her fears, and her insecurities long before she can herself. Damn him for knowing her so well. 

 

“Can we talk? Please, just open the door.” Tessa feels her breathing become ragged and uneven as she tries to halt the influx of feelings. No matter what happens, he’s always there, without fault. The thought chokes her up even more, because she loves him so fucking much she can’t even breathe sometimes. 

 

“Scott,” she murmurs, and she can hear the moment he lets his tears fall. A strangled cry makes its way through the thick wood of the door behind her, and she lets herself break along with him. 

 

Because you don’t have to fix something until it breaks. 

 

Right? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long to get up! Chapter title is from Taylor Swift’s All Too Well because I feel it goes well with angst. Hope you enjoyed!


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